Tartan Trews
by LionessInTheSmoke
Summary: Have you ever wondered why the quintessential English gentleman would go to a gala in tartan trousers? Unusually canon compliant and complete for the time being. Rating could be a bit paranoid in this case, but then I don't offend easily. (If you do, how did you make it through the film and end up here?)


**AN** \- So I had an idea, or 3 really, and then I watched the film again and OMG! I noticed something that made it even better and I wrote a blue-green tartan explosion. But you may only get one variant because the other two refuse to be wrangled into sensible shape. (This is where I would keep my beta - If I had one!)

You should know, in case you don't, that although the Black Watch tartan is a very commonly used tartan in Scotland (over-used, especially commercially), we are pretending it isn't here.

Yeah, it's clean, within the usual parameters. You know, swearing, implied Malahad, (possible and actual) death etc. None of the variants are my usual Galahad and Merlin, and I warn you, I am going to let Harry die at least once (No!).

* * *

 **Harry's New Trousers**

Merlin was pulled out of his contemplation of the selection of tablets laying pefectly aligned on his desk, on which he was reviewing the remaining six Lancelot candidates' performance, by a confident rat-a-tat-tat on his door frame. He didn't need to look up, he knew who that obnoxious knock belonged to from 27 long years of association.

"Galahad." He said, raising his head, and an eyebrow, at the agent's interruption.

"I just wanted to let you know that I am heading up to my rooms to get ready for the gala now. You can find me there at your convenience." Galahad smiled.

Merlin had no idea what the agent was planning to do to 'get ready' this early, it was only late-afternoon and he was already as perfectly coiffed as ever, but Galahad had been a peacock as long as Merlin had known him, so surely there was something he would find to do. Combing his nose hairs individually perhaps.

"Aye." Merlin nodded slightly sulkily. "I'll be along presently."

"Excellent!" Galahad smiled again and gave a wave as he fucked off out of Merlin's way, leaving him once again to his work.

* * *

Two hours later, because there is a lot more work involved in letting six children jump out of an airplane than you would likely think, Merlin adjusted his glasses, straightened his jumper and rapped on the door under the brass plate labeled 'Galahad'.

"Come!" Was the cheerful summons he instantly received.

Merlin took a deep breath and stepped into the suite.

"Evening Galahad." He said, forcing himself to make eye contact with the man lounging in his leather chesterfield rather than letting his gaze roam. He really wanted to be able to examine every inch of the suite to help sate his curiosity about his colleague, but he was there for a different reason.

Merlin could easily have spied on the agent as much as he liked, but he didn't. Not because he had any scruples about abuse of power, but because he wanted the information to be freely given. Merlin desperately wanted to know why Galahad collected tea sets for example, but he could not bring himself to just ask, that or any of the other million questions he had about the man.

"Merlin, would you like a drink?" Galahad broke 'politely' into his chain of thought. That was how they communicated when Galahad was not on a mission, in polite, socially acceptable cliches. During missions, they snarked at each other, which Merlin enjoyed significantly more.

The agent was holding a tumbler loosely in one hand, but Merlin shook his head. He would be monitoring the mission that evening.

"Well do have a seat anyway." Galahad said, waving his arm around the seating area in invitation.

Merlin took the other armchair and pulled up the mission briefing on his tablet.

"What aspect of the briefing did you wish to discuss, Galahad?" He asked, focusing on the reason for his visit. "It is just like hundreds of other missions you have been on over the years."

The agent smiled his warm smile again. Merlin really wished he wouldn't, it made him want things. Galahad seemed to be permanently smiling at him. It would have driven a less focused individual round the bend years ago.

"Hmm. Yes, and I have noticed something about those missions that I think it is high time we discussed." Galahad stated, putting his glass gently on a side table.

"I don't follow?" Merlin queried.

"Ever since you took over as Merlin, you have been my handler on every single mission where it was a likelihood that I would be required to 'charm', one way or another, the information we require out of a source. I've checked, over 17 years and there is no other agent where that is the case. Your behavior towards me after the mission has correlated directly with the amount of 'charm' I was required to use as well."

Merlin did not know where to look. He could not look completely away because he would look guilty, but the agent's eyes were too warm, and much too knowing. Looking anywhere other than his eyes was dangerous too though. 6 foot 2 inches tall, 43 inch chest, 34 inch waist, inside leg ... Merlin knew all of Harry Hart's measurements. He knew he dressed to the left. He had seen him naked on more occasions than he could count.

It had never been for him.

"Have you noticed that I had new trousers made?" Galahad asked, seemingly conversationally but Merlin was not fooled into believing that the topic had changed.

Of course Merlin had noticed, the way the agent's mile long legs were stretched out in front of him it was impossible not to.

"Yes, although I am not sure I approved the requisition." Merlin replied.

"What do you think of them?" Galahad asked in a serious tone, he ignored the rebuke. Galahad managed to walk a very fine line with his clothing budget. It came to exactly the amount that would not get him called in front of Arthur to explain his ever expanding wardrobe.

"Andrew has clearly kept to his usual high standard." Merlin answered careful. He was not aware how much the Englishman knew about wearing tartans.

"I'd like to hear what you really think, Merlin. Perhaps you have something to say about my choice of tartan? I believe it is the same one used for your field jacket." Galahad pressed, still with his blasted smile.

"I am not aware of you having any connection that would technically permit you to wear it, but it matches your smoking very nicely." Merlin was not anti-English the way that the knuckle-draggers from his part of Scotland often were, and he knew that aristos married in more often than out. Maybe Galahad had a Campbell or two in his lineage. Merlin was always prepared to admit his ignorance, although frequently in a roundabout way, he found it was often rewarded with information. Merlin wanted to know everything about Galahad that the man was willing to offer.

"Hmm. It is the Black Watch tartan, the government tartan, is it not? So in order to be entitled to wear it, I would have to have a connection to the Scottish regiments?"

"That's right, or the Campbells, there is some dispute about whose it was originally." Despite Merlin's many, many talents, he was born to be a pedagogue.

"You served with the Black Watch before getting the spot as Gareth, didn't you?" Galahad asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Yes." Merlin agreed, letting Galahad steer the conversation where he seemed to want it to go. Wherever that might be, Merlin felt he was missing a step somewhere.

"So if I had a connection to you, I would have the right to wear it?"

Merlin did not make any attempt to answer that. He was worried his brain was suddenly miss-firing after that hit out of the blue.

"I think that you are a covetous man, Merlin." Galahad continued apparently unperturbed by the sudden shift in Merlin's worldview. "And I think you have been coveting me for a very long time."

Galahad stretched his legs and re-crossed his ankles, practically forcing Merlin's formidable attention onto his body, clearly aiming to prove his point.

"We are both very busy men, Merlin. It is not that I haven't noticed your hot glances over the years, but when I ask if you want to join me for coffee, you assume I mean at your desk and tell me how you take it. As if I didn't know that after 27 years! Invitations to meals are answered with meetings scheduled in the break room and the one time I invited you to my house, you turned up with a toolbox and upgraded my security system. Not that I wasn't grateful, but that is not how my fantasies involving sexy workmen usually turn out. We seem to have a communication problem. I have been coveting you too, I just kept assuming I would have time to get through your utter obliviousness using something other than brute force. After being covered in goo and knocked into a coma, I have had a serious rethink about my delusions of immortality. How does seeing your colours on me make you feel, Merlin?" Galahad asked. "If you don't like it, I still have time to change. However, if you allow it, Mr de Vere will attend the gala as is, do whatever is required of him to get the information and then, after a hopefully brief debriefing, Harry Hart will come home to you. How does that sound?"

"Extremely unprofessional." Merlin replied, not entirely willing to believe the input his ears were receiving.

"Well, I am quite sure Arthur would rather not hear about it anyway. He is definitely of the option that the sorts of behavior I'm implying we engage in should be left behind at Eton. Oxford at the very latest." Harry sat up straight in his chair and opened his legs suggestively. "But I meant how does it sound to you?"

Merlin rested his tablet in his lap, took a deep breath through his nose and allowed his gaze to be hot and openly appraising as it ranged over Galahad.

6 foot 2 inches tall, 43 inch chest, 34 inch waist, those legs, that arse and that tempting bulge wearing the only colours Merlin, as a poor bastard hailing from the wrong end of Govan, had ever felt he could call his own.

"Long over-due." He said.

* * *

Harry's funeral had to be closed casket. He did not make a pretty corpse, which Merlin was sure would have irked the vane man to no end. Merlin had seen a lot of corpses, during his medical training, on deployment, as an agent and as a handler, and especially during the cleaning up after V-Day. One more corpse did not bother him, it wasn't the messiest by far and nothing of his lover remained in the ruined shell anyway.

Harry had left very precise instructions about how he was to be buried (assuming optimistically there would be something to bury), planned to the last detail as if he did not wish to be any more of a nuisance than necessary. Or possibly, at least in part, to avoid a sartorial disaster at his final curtain call.

Merlin had followed the instructions exactly. Except for the bow-tie and cummerbund. Merlin had replaced those as he had dressed the man himself to be laid to rest.

Their time together had been so pitiably short. There had been no opportunity for tokens of affection to be exchanged. Nothing that represented what could have been if they had only sorted themselves out years sooner, or had longer together to nurture the flames they'd carried separately.

When Harry Hart was placed into the ground, Merlin stood at the grave side, the only person who knew of the presence, or the significance, of the Black Watch bow-tie and cummerbund that matched Merlin's own kilt. Harry Hart, forever at rest, wearing Merlin's colours.

* * *

 **AN2** \- Tartan, it means something to some Scots. Not me, but then the ones I have a right to wear are all _utterly_ hideous.

Generally, I think Merlin is former RAF. It's the grey jumpers and ability to pilot a plane.

If you look closely, Merlin's field jacket really is the same tartan as Harry's trousers, rather than the usual plain material used for such coats. Perfect.


End file.
